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383 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 18, 2013
Laney grinned. “Zero stars. And that’s final.” He watched her. He couldn’t believe the miracle of her, or how beautiful and brave she was. But that wasn’t the phrase, not precisely. She felt good and endless, and he wanted to never stop discovering her.
Maxwell listened. He saw her. He soaked her in, seemed almost to enjoy her, with a kind of sparkle in his eye that seemed just for her. It made her feel happy, bold. And it was mercilessly sexy.
“A linguist secret agent. Did you grow up thinking, I want to be so goddamn cool someday?”
Maybe his efforts to save Laney had unbalanced the mission and set countless arms dealers after her. Well, he’d save her from them, too. He’d save the whole goddamn world, because just watching her twirl a twisty tie made him feel hopeful. And every one of her crazy words filled him with unspeakable joy. And the way she held her lips when she was angry made him happy, and so did her filthy mouth, and all that energetic red hair she hid under that brown dye. There was even something about those songs of hers, much as they nettled him. No, it was more that they pierced him…pummeled him.

Nobody escaped Macmillan. Back when he had been a rising star in the linguistics world, he could spend entire months studying the way different people pronounced a diphthong like the ow in low, and draw all kinds of conclusions about what that meant. He could see a universe in a single word choice. He used his expertise to understand people, and by extension, humanity itself.
She paused only a moment. “I get it.” She began to unbend a paperclip. “You don’t want me in danger or something, so you’re being jerky. Chivalry noted and rejected.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I think it is.”
She felt his eyes on her.
“And this is the expert assessment from the woman who thinks a cornpone hee-haw singing show is a capital way to hide?”
His words were a punch in the gut.
She tried not to show it. “Excuse me?”
“Cornpone hee-haw singing show,” he repeated. “It’s rather precise, don’t you think? Hardly needs a supporting cast.”
“I know what you’re doing,” she said.
“You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know you think words are your bitch. Just some shell game for you to play. Making things real that aren’t, or putting a new face on things you don’t like. But guess what?” She fixed him with a good glare. They were close enough to kiss, but that wasn’t in the air now. “When a man is chained up in a cage like a circus tiger, then it’s the right thing to help him. And doing the right thing is always the right thing. And I’ll tell you something else: when a dog gets run over by a car, it’s a goddamn tragedy, not an exercise in phonemes. So take the fucking paperclip and unlock yourself.”
He laughed that beautiful laugh.
You think it’s funny?”
Oh it’s not funny so much as delicious,” he said. “I see you read my book.”
“That’s right. A whole lot of bunk designed to hornswoggle folks.”
“What a coincidence,” he said. “That’s what I was planning on calling my next book. A Whole Lot of Bunk Designed to Hornswoggle Folks Two. What do you think?”
“Maybe she could trust him. The idea of trusting him felt like a flower in her heart.”
“You saw a lot of this mix of color and concrete grubbiness in Bangkok. Decrepitude and wealth at vivid angles with each other, like shards from different mirrors.”
“You bleeding?” “No,” he said. “I’ve shifted to the coagulation and infection stage. I’m running them concurrently.”
“Well, thank you, Professor Devilwell, PhD in asshole arrogance.”
“You don’t wait until it so obvious that a man in a cell in the basement of a tropical hotel has to point it out to you. No, you fly.”
“There’s no such thing as a Disney criminal, Laney.”